


The Little Things

by Cyane



Series: 130 Writing Prompt Challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crime Scenes, Fluff and Crack, Injury Recovery, John is a Saint, One Shot, Prompt Fill, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyane/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 2/130: Paper cut</p><p>Sherlock didn't complain when he had a stab wound, but when he had a paper cut, it was all John heard about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

" _John, we're going to need you to hurry down,_ " Lestrade's crackling voice came across through the phone. 

The doctor sighed. "Why? You need him to make someone else look like an idiot?" 

Sherlock had left three hours ago on a serial murder case, which he had been ecstatic about, obviously. Scotland Yard had been trying to crack the case for weeks, and finally Greg's higher ups agreed to let Sherlock in, even with such a dangerous case. 

_"John, it's the case- it's serious. Sherlock caught the bloody murderer, but he's not in good shape and he won't let any of our doctors take a look at him."_

And wasn't that just typical? 

Despite his irritation, John felt anxiety rising at the words. It was serious, apparently. Greg wouldn't joke about something like that. "I'll be there, give me a few," John said, already halfway down the stairs. If Sherlock wasn't letting the Scotland Yard healers look at him, there was no certain way to tell how bad the damage was. (And knowing Sherlock, it could be anywhere from a cracked rib to a bullet wound.) 

Even with traffic and a slow cabbie, he managed to get there in fifteen minutes. 

Running into the building, he was surprised to see Sgt. Donovan standing outside, looking rather pale. "You m-might want to hurry, the Freak isn't lookin' too good." Despite her attempt at mockery, John could tell she was worried.

That just blew on his fire of concern. If _Sally Donovan_ , of all people, was worried about _Sherlock Holmes_ , he had to be dead or dying.

John ran faster.

Once he got inside he ran until he saw the group of paramedics and Lestrade himself. They were all gathered around Sherlock, who was standing with his arms crossed, looking scandalized.

"...no you can't! You can't _look me over_! I know what you're trying to do, Geoff-"

"-Greg."

"-And I'm not letting you! Get away from me, I'm fine! I just arrested a serial killer for you, Christ- John!"

John couldn't help but smirk in amusement, but he was still washed over in concern.  
"Sherlock, c'mon. Everyone out except for you three," John pointed to the paramedics. "You," He gestured to Greg. "And you, you bloody git." (Obviously he waved at Sherlock as he said this.)

The gathered members of Scotland Yard scoffed at his attempt to order them around, but reluctantly left once Greg had ordered the same. "The lot of you- out, _now_!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, taking a step back. "I'm fine, you idiots. I solved the case."

"Sherlock, your nose is bleeding everywhere," John commented, walking towards the consulting detective and reaching out for the Belstaff coat.  
"I'm giving you a proper diagnosis. A doctor diagnosis."

He could feel the paramedics staring at him, and Greg's gaze burned into the back of his neck. _Sherlock, will you just do this?_

Fortunately, the taller man sighed before starting to pull of his coat. 

While taking the second arm off, Sherlock gasped and writhed in pain, collapsing to the floor and moaning. John immediately reached out and caught him before his head hit the ground, but he pulled off the rest of the coat.

Sherlock was wearing a black shirt underneath, so John began taking that odd as well. Paramedics had rushed forward and they were hauling his friend onto a stretcher.  
"Morphine, now!" He shouted, army-doctor-mode kicking in. 

Once the shirt was off, it was obvious what the issue was. Sherlock had a stab wound in his right upper arm. While it wasn't extremely deep, a stab wound was still a stab wound. John's eyes widened and he quickly began shouting at the other medics for various things.

Greg was watching the whole thing, gaping when the wound was visible. _The murderer must've stabbed him while Sherlock held him down! Although how Sherlock held on and completely forgot something as agonizing as that... That's past me._

It was a miracle Sherlock had John to keep him going, alive and well. What did Sherlock do before John?  
_He was a suicidal junkie,_ The detective inspector thought miserably.

Finally Sherlock was sedated as John started cleaning the wound.

Greg sighed. _Note to self: when you need Sherlock to be looked over, call John immediately._

_/////////_

Sherlock didn't say anything about his injuries. Either he forgot about them (unlikely) or he just didn't want to be seen as human (more likely), but either way he almost never said anything about anything.

(Everything else; he could talk your ear off.)

So when Sherlock Holmes mentioned he was in pain, he was either being tortured to an excruciating extent, or it was something so minor- such as a stubbed toe- that John honestly wondered if he should just put a band-aid on it and kiss it better. On second thought, no kissing. People might talk.

_/////////_

"John!" Sherlock screamed from upstairs, making Mrs. Hudson and John jump. "John, come quickly! Jesus, _hurry_!" 

Mrs Hudson gave John a concerned glance. "You'd better go see what Sherlock is shouting about. Do you think he is all right?" 

The doctor only smiled tightly, nodding slightly, before politely excusing himself and running upstairs. Sherlock had probably solved a case, or something. As John approached the door frame, he heard heavy breathing and pained noises.  
"Sherlock?" 

He turned the corner and saw Sherlock lying on the couch, his eyes tightly scrunched together. "Sherlock? What happened- did the stitches on that stab wound come undone?" 

Sherlock groaned pathetically and rolled over. "No, no, my arm is fine, but _look_ , John! Look!" Sherlock held up his finger like he was pointing at the ceiling. John took a closer look and frowned.  
"Did you get chemicals on it or something?"

"No, John! I have a cut!" John looked closer. "I don't see anything."

"A paper cut! Look closer!" Sherlock wailed. "Do whatever useful doctor things you used in the army! Get Neosporin! Get morphine!"  
John raised an eyebrow. "A... a _paper cut_ , Sherlock? You do realize you just had twelve stitches on a _stab wound_ to your arm, right? And you didn't even notice it!"  
The detective rolled his eyes and winced in agony, looking at his finger. "This is different." 

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, John sighed and finally gave in. "Fine! I'm not getting you morphine, but we do have Neosporin and Band-Aids. You asked for it." 

"You're the worst doctor ever," Sherlock mumbled.

"That's not what you were saying while I was making sure you didn't bleed out." 

"Whatever."

**Author's Note:**

> Little bit OOC Sherlock at the end. Sorry. I'm planning on lots of angsty-filled fics with Hurt!Sherlock so I wanted some fluff. The ending wasn't what I planned, but I'm satisfied. Hope you all liked!


End file.
